Just Six Leagues
by UnnamedElement
Summary: A series of mistakes in the King's Army threatens the safety of their own, including young Legolas and a group of his friends. From misinterpreted commands to poorly executed retreats, from spiders and poisonings to poorly-chosen campsites, five elves find themselves fighting for their lives, within just a day's walk of the Elvenking's Hall. / Legolas, Ithildim, & Co / Pre-LotR


**Just Six Leagues**

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**Author's Note: **A year of silence on this site, but here I am and still alive! "Real life" has handed my own butt to me on a platter. Therefore, instead of obsessing over storylines, I've decided to write a good, old-fashioned action/adventure and hurt/comfort. There is no larger meaning here—just people living together, making decisions and making mistakes, getting hurt and getting better, and, ultimately, [hopefully] surviving. Do not expect a work of genius; my goal with this is to not obsess and to just put onto paper what is in my head, while hopefully producing something entertaining for you in the meantime! I have never directly asked for reviews before but… _PLEASE consider reviewing_—any notes I get right now are a major boost for my initiative! And I've started back on a few other stories recently and I'm hoping to ride the wave of productivity toward completion on at least one of them. 😊 _No beta, all mistakes are mine._

**Note on characters and timeline: **This takes place about 150 years after "Enough" and about four centuries before "To Rekindle Hearts." (For canon references, thats about 20 years after Erebor is founded and about 400 uears before the Watchful Peace ends). It is not at all necessary to have read either of those stories, or the other things in my Mirkwood Series, to understand this one. However, this is what it is helpful to know:

1\. At this point in Legolas' life, he is just relatively recently past his majority (I use LACE for age), as are Ithildim and Saida. Ithildim is Legolas' best friend and agemate, and Saida is a very dear friend—I consider them the equivalent "Harry Potter trio" of my Mirkwood Series, a set of friends with varying strengths and weaknesses but love for one another and absolute passion for what they do. Anyway, in this story, Saida is in the process of transitioning out of the Army and into an instructor role, and Ithildim and Legolas have continued in their leadership training. All are still quite green, however, being only about 270 years old.

2\. Elednil is an older elf introduced in, I think, "Enough." He is "new" to the King's Army given his age, and he is in the same unit as the characters here.

3\. Lostariel and Amonhir are higher-ranking officers in the King's Army, to whom all of those involved in this story report. They lead Legolas and Ithildim's unit.

4\. Felavel—mentioned in the beginning of this story—is Legolas' older sister, who died in service at the beginning of the story "Enough." Lumornon is Legolas' older brother, and heir to the throne; he is primarily a strategist and a part-time diplomat.

("Araw" is one of the early Sindarin names for Oromë, relevant in this story for his association with hunting fell creatures and his additional historical associations with the Wilderlands.)

**Note on geography and botany:** So, as much as I love Tolkien, some of the geographic features in his maps are a little perplexing, even given the newness of Arda's creation. Therefore, I have taken the liberty to add tributaries to the Forest River that flow down from the Grey Mountains, from the North. For an interesting, informative, and amusing article (with even more amusing comments) written by a geomorphologist, google "Tolkien's Map and the Perplexing River Systems of Middle-Earth." Also, you may notice that I reference some herbs and plants that are _not_ native to Europe and, therefore, also likely not occurring in Middle-earth. Please excuse this as I live in North America, and I find it easier to write what I know instead of relearning years of plant lore for another continent. :)

_Phew. All done! So, with that, please enjoy!_

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**CHAPTER ONE**

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**Early Summer, Third Age 2016  
****Somewhere north of the Elvenking's Halls in the forest of Mirkwood**

"Have you thought yet about what we will tell our parents when we get home?" Ithildim asked, gripping Legolas' shoulder harder as they stepped awkwardly over a particularly large tree—the heart of it spilled out rotted on the other side of their path, dark and black and bleeding into the ground from the heavy rain.

Legolas grunted and adjusted his hold on Ithildim's waist as Ithildim hopped on one foot for a moment to fall back in with Legolas' comparatively steady gate. Legolas glanced skyward to check the sun's progress as well he could through the thick canopy before answering. The light—dim as it was—yet burned his eyes and set his head to pounding, and he ached.

"I have been more worried by what our captains will say than our fathers," he said, looking back down and blinking rapidly. "And my own is not likely to have noticed my absence much yet, for Captain Lostariel would not dare alert him to it until she was sure we were not coming back, not after Fela—"

"You do not have to talk about your sister, Legolas," Ithildim interrupted suddenly, stumbling slightly over his own feet as he said it.

Legolas hitched Ithildim back up by the waist and glanced sidelong at him before stopping again for a moment. He plucked a piece of dried leaf detritus off of Ithildim's cheek where it had stuck and crinkled after the rain, and had since begun to crumble.

Legolas flicked it from his fingers mindlessly, but swallowed a hiss of pain at the movement before using his forehead to adjust the bandage on his hand. He eventually dropped his arm back to his side and shrugged gently. He barely acknowledged Ithildim's earlier interruption, saying instead, simply: "Lostariel would not tell my father about us until she was absolutely certain we were in danger." They began to walk again. "Not after Felavel."

Legolas felt Ithildim nod beside him, before his comrade focused his attention again on the meager path beneath his feet—his inclined head pulled their combined weight forward and Legolas adjusted his gait accordingly.

"My sister is dead, Ithildim," Legolas reassured quietly, feeling Ithildim's discomfort palpably, "and talking about her will not change that." He spoke in his normal tone again. "And _we_ are not dead, though we are perhaps lucky not to be, I think."

Ithildim relaxed in response to his lighter tone and snorted. He limped more pronouncedly as he glared at Legolas now. "And whose fault was that? I _told_ you to pull back."

"And _I_ told you no," Legolas countered. He breathed out something that was not quite a chuckle and not quite a huffof exasperation. "I had given a command to Elednil previously, and at that point, if he had completed it, he would have died—I could not pull back without telling him to pull back, too. It would have been unfair—so separated from Amonhir and Lostariel, that responsibility was ours."

"And _that_ is why you are training as _my_ second, Legolas," Ithildim said sharply. "Because you are skilled, but you do not think of yourself nor see the larger picture, and you do not listen."

Legolas did not immediately answer and so they hobbled for a time in silence. He pulled his right arm closer to his chest so that he could tuck his hand and wrist for beneath the strap of his quiver that he still kept tightly about himself, despite having lost his bow in the incident. He sighed in relief as it took the pressure off the worst of his injury, gravity no longer pulling at his forearm so that its full length pulsated painfully with every step and with each of Ithildim's readjustments. This particular mission had only solidified his unrelenting and absolutely indiscriminate hatred of spiders.

"Your words tell me that your patience is short, Ithildim," Legolas finally said, "and when your patience is short, it means you do not feel well. You sound more like Captain Amonhir now than yourself, and, as for me, I prefer you as Ithildim, for Amonhir is not particularly fond of me." He felt Ithildim's hand tighten on his shoulder as he listened, and Legolas hitched his own more securely about Ithildim's waist as he kept them upright and walking. "I daresay we both know this is an inopportune time to turn on one another. Let us stop for a rest—there are a few hours more until nightfall, before we will truly need to be tucked away somewhere."

Ithildim did not reply immediately and concentrated instead on keeping his foot from bumping against a large root protruding from the ground in front of them. A moment later, however, he found himself significantly off balance and swaying as Legolas came to a stop without warning.

"What?" Ithildim asked, looking up abruptly.

"Do you not think we should stop, then?"

Ithildim sighed and pivoted slightly on his good foot, so that he could rest his chin on Legolas' shoulder without having to look at him. "I think," Ithildim muttered from his slightly bent position, "that we should just have followed the river after all. I am sorry that I did not listen. Now, I am tired and I am terse, and it is not fair to you."

Legolas let go his hold of Ithildim's waist as Ithildim leaned against him so that he could push the hair hiding Ithildim's face to the side. Forcing him to stand up of his own accord again, Legolas steadied Ithildim with a hand to his shoulder as he watched his silver eyes glance guiltily away.

"You thought it was the right choice at the time, Ithildim," Legolas said quietly. "And, besides, I was hardly the picture of reasonableness when I initially made the suggestion. You had to do what you thought best given the circumstances."

Ithildim nodded and Legolas jerked his head slightly to indicate Ithildim should take his shoulder again; Legolas slipped his arm about Ithildim's waist and they started to walk again in silence. The mud squelched gently beneath their feet and Legolas noted that the tiny, white blooms of the bloodwart—that crawled here and there as thick groundcover, bumping up against the edges of the path and spilling sometimes into it—were droopy and heavy from yesterday's deluge, losing petals prematurely so the leaves below looked bald and lonely.

Ithildim gripped Legolas' shoulder tightly and Legolas was pulled from his thoughts. He glanced at Ithildim as he reflexively put one foot in front of the other.

"I do think we should stop," Ithildim finally said. "Just for a bit. Not just because of my own discomfort, though, but because you are still warm—I can feel it through your shirt. We have enough willow bark and boneset yet that you should have another dose before moving on, and I imagine we will find meadowsweet soon."

"Hm," Legolas said in response.

"_Hmm _means I am right," Ithildim replied, and Legolas could hear the smile tugging at his lips without having to look at him. "Your fall into the river was good for something, at least—we lost our packs but gained enough of those herbs to last us the year."

Legolas laughed.

"It is an unfortunate affinity for water I have," Legolas said as they stopped. He dropped his hand from Ithildim's waist and Ithildim pivoted again and grasped Legolas' other shoulder instead, watching as Legolas gently pulled his arm out from where he had it lodged in his strap. "My sister did always say that they would have been better off naming me for the water than the land," he said with a smile, as he finished freeing his injured hand, "but I think my relationship with water is changing."

Legolas faced Ithildim fully and held out his uninjured arm to help him from the skinny path and to the bole of a wide, old oak tree some distance away. Ithildim hobbled with a scowl and Legolas watched with concern as Ithildim nearly yelped when his foot bumped against a protruding rock. If they were come upon now by orcs or spiders or other nasty things, they would be a compromised pair indeed… He tried not to think about their youthful inexperience and physical vulnerability as he prepared to settle Ithildim down.

"Yes, well," Ithildim said shortly through gritted teeth as Legolas finally lowered him to the ground for their break before, what he hoped, was the final leg of their journey. He settled with a grunt and a sigh of relief as he leaned back onto his hands and stretched out his legs. He looked up at Legolas, who was leaning against the oak as he settled.

"Well," Ithildim finally started again, more gently now as he watched Legolas raise an arm to his mouth to stifle a yawn. When he finally sank down across from Ithildim, curled up against the tree, he clutched his arm tightly to his chest.

Ithildim brushed a strand of dark hair out of his own eyes before considering his friend again and continuing: "Well, I frankly do not think I like rivers anymore, unless we are on raft duty. That is so pleasant. Perhaps we should request to switch."

Legolas chuckled and leaned forward to pick with one hand at the bandages they had packed around Ithildim's ankle when they set out that morning—they were wet with the mud from their journey and the prospect of infection in their wet conditions worried him. But Ithildim batted his hands away before Legolas had the chance to inspect the injury. Glaring half-heartedly at Legolas, he unwrapped his ankle himself.

"Leave that hand alone for half a second, for the sake of all that is good, Legolas."

Legolas ignored him and continued their conversation as if he had not heard the reprimand at all. "I expect we will not have to request a switch. I will at least be placed elsewhere for a time, I am sure," he said. "Raft duty would be a blessing. I have been preparing myself for rolling barrels in the dark of the cellar these past few miles…"

He squinted at the ankle after Ithildim finished unwrapping it and then touched Ithildim's shoe gently so that he lifted his foot for Legolas to consider fully, from front to back. They had been worried the day before, upon first glance, that the rocks had slashed a tendon, but it was thankfully only a deep gash and a sprain, with a break somewhere they, unfortunately, could not quite identify… The laceration was scabbing and cool to the touch, and the ankle was not more swollen than it had been that morning. He pushed Ithildim's foot back toward the ground and wordlessly thanked the forest for this one kindness.

"You are not even infected," he told Ithildim with a smile of relief. "We may just get out of this yet, I think."

Ithildim said nothing as Legolas crossed his legs in front of him and then tucked his injured arm back up against his chest; he held it in place with his chin, wrist pressed gently against his collarbone, fingers curling limply above the curve of his shoulder. Ithildim frowned as he saw a slight spot of rusty-brown appear on Legolas' tunic through the bandage as he pressed.

Ithildim wrapped his own ankle back up, and then tapped Legolas' chin gently so he could look at him face-to-face.

"We should have come across a patrol by now," he said. "We are within at least fifteen leagues of home, based on the lightness of the forest." Ithildim glanced past Legolas to the woods behind him, and to where he knew they lightened even more further up the path. "Someone ought to have been sent for us by now. Your brother must be beside himself, Legolas, with Lostariel coming back without us. You know she always reports to him first."

Legolas noticed the note of concern in Ithildim's voice and saw the flicker of it in his light eyes, and he heard the bevy of scared but unspoken questions to which neither of them were willing to give voice. He did not know what to say and so cut their shared gaze, looking down at his lap instead. His eyes focused on the hole in his trousers through which he had been picking at a piece of gravel embedded in the skin above his left knee every time they stopped. He glanced back up at Ithildim to show he had heard him before starting the ritual again. After a minute of careful pressing this time, however, he hissed in surprise as the piece of gravel oozed out from beneath a flap of skin—he pursed his lips and flicked it into the woods. Ithildim watched and offered a flat congratulations at the small success, and Legolas pressed the heel of his hand against the now unstoppered wound to prevent excessive blood flow. He considered himself lucky given the amount of spider venom that should have assaulted his body, but the amount that had managed to go in through the sting was still affecting him, loathe as he was to admit it. He was bleeding too easily and too long even a day later.

Legolas had, however, really been using the picking to distract Ithildim, for he did not know any more what to do now than Ithildim did. Finally, and he did not meet Ithildim's eyes for fear of his own concern increasing his friend's, he asked, "Do you have Lumornon's tables? Of the updated patrol quadrants?"

"No," Ithildim answered immediately. "They were in my pack, with the maps, and the rations, and—"

Legolas held up a hand to cut him off and nodded down at his chest. "In my pocket, on the left, inside, I kept a copy. It is probably wet but I am glad now I wore a spring tunic instead of our usual summer uniform—it may have been protected from the rain."

"And the river," Ithildim said dryly.

He met Ithildim's eyes sharply and then scooted away from the tree and toward him. "Can you—"

But he did not have to finish, as Ithildim had already sat up from where he leaned back on his hands to tug at the wet leather of Legolas' quiver until it came loose of the clasp. Before placing it on the ground, however, he felt just inside the quiver's lip for the small fabric package he had put together before they departed the river's banks. Wrapped tightly in the center of the small package were the herbs they had harvested, layered deeply within to avoid mould from the moisture. He pulled the package out and dropped it into Legolas' lap before undoing the buttons and opening his tunic fully so he could reach inside the deep pocket on the left.

He pulled out the blessedly dry and folded parchment and smoothed it out on the ground between them. They both stared at it in silence for a few moments, eyes skimming over the table. The table showed five boxes for each row of numbered quadrants north of the Forest River, with dates and assigned patrols written neatly beside each of the ten.

"This is useless without a map with which to compare it," Ithildim said, as Legolas sighed and opened his mouth to say the same thing. "We have no idea how far we were carried in the river. We do not even know which tributary we fell into. All we know is that we are north of the Forest River. This is useless."

"Wherever we are, there must be an outpost nearby. Perhaps there is a map stashed in their emergency supplies. I will seek it after I find us food," Legolas picked up the parchment and folded it again neatly, tucking it back into the inner pocket.

Ithildim hummed thoughtfully as Legolas reached for the buttons to start to do the front of his tunic up again. However, Legolas found his fingers frustratingly clumsy, and so Ithildim caught up his hands in his own instead. He pushed Legolas' hands away from his chest and reached to do the buttons for him, before taking Legolas' hands up again.

Ithildim lifted his injured foot off the ground and scooted slightly closer to him so he could pull Legolas' injured arm gently into his lap. Legolas raised his eyes toward the sky in exasperation and bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Ithildim push up his torn sleeve and began to unwrap the discolored bandages that covered him from elbow to palm.

Ithildim whistled softly as he dropped the bandages into Legolas' lap, revealing the large puncture wound that gaped an inch below his friend's elbow on his forearm. The entry wound was red and warm when he touched it, and the skin up his forearm and into his hand where the stinger had effectively made a tunnel was purpling from the trauma and warmer, too, than he would have liked.

Legolas frowned as Ithildim's fingers ghosted the length of the injury. "Well, this, I think, is rather unfortunate."

Ithildim ignored him and felt at Legolas' wrist, instead. It had been originally dislocated by the force of the sting, the shifting bones allowing the stinger to come to a rest in the center of his palm. It had terrified Ithildim to pull it out—he had never seen wrist bones strain at the skin quite like that before, and it was nauseating—but the stinger had snapped off with the venom sacks attached, and so they had had no other choice.

Now, he pressed gently at the spot in the center of Legolas' palm where the stinger had almost poked back through, and he was displeased to feel it swollen-fluid moved visibly beneath the skin as he prodded. He flipped Legolas' hand over and frowned to see the entire back of his hand now bruising, too, with the tendons themselves inflamed and swelling the tissue around them. Ithildim glanced up to find Legolas pursing his lips, nostrils flared in marked frustration.

Ithildim broke their gaze and turned his attention back to the wound. "Honestly, I do not know how you are still on your feet," he said with a sigh, picking gently at dried, yellow infection that crusted at the edge of the hole in Legolas' arm. "Or using this hand at all, absolutely mangled as it is. It is a small wound, maybe, but between the damp and the venom… With this new infection, Legolas, I—we ought to drain it, but it is not safe to do so here…"

Ithildim trailed off and concentrated pointedly, lips set in a thin line as he wiped at the watery blood running now in a tiny rivulet from the wound. Ithildim thought it lucky that at least the poison had stopped the wound from prematurely closing, despite the small amount of continuing and, he now wondered, perhaps constant blood loss. He snorted at his current definition of luck, and Legolas raised his eyebrows.

"You are thinking how we are at least a little fortunate that the wound has not trapped the infection within," Legolas said simply, with a wry smile.

"I am indeed, you audacious fool," Ithildim murmered, picking up the cleanest corner of his tunic and bending toward the hole. "Now be still, Legolas, or your uncanny ability to guess my thoughts will be of no use at all."

Legolas nodded, and so Ithildim used that cleanest corner of his own tunic to wipe just inside the injury, hoping to remove any debris still trapped that might be contributing to the infection. Legolas hissed and fisted his uninjured hand against his thigh. Ithildim looked up sympathetically and paused for a moment, one hand still gripping Legolas' elbow tightly and the other hovering above the wound as he waited for Legolas' reassurance to continue.

"Honestly, it is a wonder she released it like a bee instead of ripping your arm wide-open with her death throws," Ithildim said to fill the silence as Legolas collected himself.

Legolas swallowed and smiled reassuringly, hardly nodding, but Ithildim understood and started again.

"It was thoughtful of her indeed," Legolas quipped through clenched teeth as Ithildim worked.

Ithildim chuckled and continued the cleansing. Ithildim was leant so close to his work that Legolas could feel his very breath inside the wound when he pulled the cloth out to peer in closely. It was a nauseating sensation, to feel his friend's breath inside his own body instead of just on his skin. He concentrated, instead, on the way Ithildim's dark hair was gently unbraiding itself as he worked, sliding and slick in a way Legolas knew he would never quite understand himself, for his hair was thick and wiry like his mother's, and he had always been fascinated by his friend's.

The distraction worked. Eventually, Ithildim dropped the now-bloodied corner of his shirt and squinted at Legolas' wound as if entreating it for an answer. Legolas raised his eyebrows at Ithildim, and Ithildim shrugged, picking up the bandages off of Legolas' lap to rewrap the wound, from the elbow down.

"Well, we need to get home, or be found," Ithildim finally said, as he concentrated on wrapping as much of the remaining bandage as possible around Legolas' particularly swollen palm. "If we gain no information from the outpost, I will have to ask you to leave me there and travel ahead as quickly as you can, alone. Our options dwindle, and our strength is not exactly growing."

Legolas nodded as Ithildim wound the last bit of the bandage around itself several times before tucking it in neatly near the opening for his thumb. Legolas thanked Ithildim and pulled his arm tenderly to press against his stomach; he cradled it there gently with his other arm.

"I choose to believe we will find some good at the outpost, Ithildim," Legolas said quietly, looking up at Ithildim intently, watching the strands of hair that framed his face waver minutely in the heavy, forest air.

Ithildim took the package of herbs out of Legolas' lap, too, and he was quiet for a long moment as he began to unwrap it. Legolas leaned back against the tree again, closing his eyes momentarily and reminding himself of more pleasant things than their current predicament.

He did not realize he had drifted off until Ithildim was suddenly at his shoulder, having slid across the ground on his rear to settle close beside him against the tree.

"Hey-o," Ithildim said quietly, as his thigh pressed up against him. "Take these. And, yes, I will, too, apart from the boneset."

Legolas opened his eyes and Ithildim placed the herbs into Legolas' unbandaged hand. He put them in his mouth and began to chew, and watched Ithildim do the same, though Ithildim puckered his lips as the sourness of the willow made itself known.

"You are lucky," Legolas said after a minute of chewing the leaves and bark—his tongue felt cottony, and he grimaced as he finally swallowed. "I hate the way boneset makes me sweat. It is simply unpleasant."

"Sweating is the _point_, Legolas," Ithildim said, rolling his eyes, but patting Legolas' leg reassuringly as he leaned against Ithildim's shoulder. "You know that—we want that toxin out of you."

Ithildim could feel Legolas drooping again as his exhaustion got the best of him, and Ithildim prodded him gently. "Not yet, please. We need clean water desperately. Please, Legolas, I beg you to look before you lose fluids from the boneset. It is for your own health."

"The outpost will have water," Legolas said determinedly. "I am sure of it."

Ithildim sighed—Legolas could be obnoxiously hopeful at times.

"I am not so sure. I know you have labored harder today—" Ithildim started, but then both he and Legolas turned their eyes skyward at the exact same time, falling into shared silence.

Half a minute of quiet passed before anything happened, and then they heard the pitter-patter of rain before they saw it. It fell like tiny hands on tiny drums as it hit the leathery leaves of the giant oak above them, falling in a shower that was nearly a deluge through the leaves and finally to them on the ground below.

As the first drops reached them, Ithildim fumbled with the buttons on Legolas' tunic once again, gingerly pulling it off of him and rooting about in the pocket for the patrol papers. He shoved the parchment beneath his buttocks to keep them dry, and then draped Legolas' tunic on a low-hanging branch of mountain laurel that hovered just to the left of their heads. There it could collect the rainwater for them, instead of their having to dig a hole in the ground—drinking straight from the shirt would mean not wasting time filtering out impurities, which they had neither the time, means, nor patience to do currently.

Legolas smiled at him thankfully.

"Come," Ithildim said, bumping up against Legolas' shoulder familiarly as the rain fell louder and more insistently. "Come to my other side. I want your bandages covered better in this rain, now that I have divested you of your cover."

Legolas immediately stood, stepped over Ithildim's legs, and dropped to his other side. He leaned back against the tree beside him, and Ithildim wrapped an arm about Legolas' shoulders, pulling him close so that his injured arm was pinned gently between their bodies.

"There," Ithildim said, dropping his arm back to their laps. He laid his own arm on top of Legolas' bandaged one to divert the rain even more.

"Your foot," Legolas said, nodding at the makeshift bandages wrapped about Ithildim. Ithildim shrugged, but then pulled his foot up carefully, splaying his leg out so that his ankle dangled just off his own knee. Legolas was just enough smaller than he that his foot rested at a comfortable angle on Legolas' thigh.

"There," Ithildim said, turning to his friend in time to see him swiping at the short strands of hair that usually haloed his face out of his eyes; they had been laid flat and sticky by the rain. Ithildim snorted as Legolas struggled. "We will get through this yet," he continued. "As you always insist, 'Oft hope is born when—'"

"Oh, hush, Ithildim," Legolas said, laughing. He had given up on his hair. "Nothing is quite forlorn yet."

Ithildim was quiet for a moment, watching the rain saturate Legolas' tunic beside them, water beginning to drip from its slowly swaying sleeve. They fell quiet as the rain beat out a gentle pattern about them. Eventually, Ithildim gently slid his fingers in between those of Legolas' injured hand, and was surprised to feel him already sweating, despite the rain, from the boneset.

"Rest," Ithildim said quietly. "Let the medicine do its work. I will wake you when the rain is over. There is no point traveling now."

Legolas did not argue, and instead leaned his head against Ithildim's shoulder. He watched the rain beat the leaves and petals of the deep purple trilliums growing at the base of the maple just across from them. He began to drift, but suddenly jerked his head from Ithildim's shoulder, woken by an eerie sensation of falling. He stared at the trilliums again and then settled his head back down a moment later.

"At least the woods here are ever beautiful, in early summer," he whispered. "Watch the petals of those flowers dance, Ithildim, returning ever to their proper place between the raindrops."

"Shh," Ithildim murmered, lifting his eyes toward the darkening sky and praying for intervention. "Rest, Legolas."

Ithildim felt Legolas' hand twitch within his own, and he could feel the sweat now pouring off his skin—even the protected bandage was wet with it.

"But the birds, Ithildim. We have heard none for miles," Legolas murmured as he turned his face more into Ithildim's shoulder. Ithildim could feel him relaxing again, and his breath was warm on his upper arm, cutting through the fabric of his thin summer tunic as Legolas finally settled. "That-that I do not like."

Ithildim sat in silence and continued to watch the leaves above them, staring up into the wide grey sky that was barely visible between the branches.

By the time Ithildim looked back down, Legolas was deeply asleep, lips slightly parted and dark-honey hair mussed up against his cheek where he was leaned against him.

And, so, Ithildim found himself left quite alone, staring off into the woods. Alone enough that he finally dared to ask the question aloud that neither of them had been willing to say to one another before: "How will we ever make it home, should some greater evil befall us now?"

He thought of his parents, and Legolas' siblings; he thought of how this would break Thranduil's heart and destroy his own mother, of how they would have left Saida all alone, and Lostariel with a new guilt to carry. He hated that he had uttered it aloud at all, even with Legolas as far off and wandering in dreams as he was, but he secretly hoped that the gods might hear him, as distant as they now seemed to the Silvans of Mirkwood. Still, he was nervous—he knew there was something very wrong, in that they had not yet encountered any patrols, nor any creatures with which to beg a message… But he did not yet know precisely what the problem was.

Ithildim watched the trilliums Legolas had described so hopefully minutes before as they were now viciously beaten by the rain. The flowers would endure until they simply could not any longer, he thought, bitterly. And then, even as he watched, one of the delicate flowers was pinned to the ground by a sudden downpour. Its comrades bobbed and persisted, but the fallen one did not get up.

Ithildim ran a hand over Legolas' forehead anxiously.

The rain grew heavier and the fallen trillium was layered now with mud. Ithildim dropped his hand from Legolas' fevered brow. The fallen flower's dark petals were now crushed and indistinguishable from the muck about them.

"Oh, Araw," Ithildim finally sighed quietly, resting his own head gently on the top of Legolas', for he had slumped even lower in his sleep. "Please help us, and send us, too, Nienna's mercy, should we have need."

Even drenched as they both now were, Legolas slept on, and the rain roared around them.

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_Thank you for reading! Please review, if you can. Reviews give this fanwriter the steam to push through, and I am finally old enough to not care about asking for them. ;) I can hardly believe I have been on this site for 15 years now! Happy weekend._


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